A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

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Could I have walked away? Did I have any say in the matters? Or was and is this a predetermined path?

For what, Lord? What is the point in all of this? Is there some test I have to pass? Is there some lesson? Or healing that you are doing in me? Or others? If I could just figure out what meaning there is. Then I’d have hope again. Then I’d be motivated.

People say to just pull up your bootstraps. Or don’t make it so complicated. I’m afraid that maybe sometimes I’ve been so heavenly-minded that I’ve been no earthly good. Right now I just feel lost. Spinning my wheels. Digging further and further in. Defeated.

And yet every time, every single time I feel like I want to give up, You and only You will give me some undeniable hug in various forms that will keep me going a little more. Until the next time.

But I am so tired of this life, Lord. This life of me trying to move forward, over and over again, and feeling like You have me on a leash, always blocking my path. Because I was raised a certain way. I know the things to do. I try to do them. But it never seems to work out.

If I don’t compare myself to others then I also love this life of adventure You’ve given me. If that is what it is versus just a series of repeated massive failures. If You’re okay with me then I’m good. No matter what anyone else thinks. Even if I despise the shame.

And I am nearly drowning in the condemnation of others, but I feel so Loved by You, God. Over and over in so many ways. And yet the big things, at least the big things to me, You seem to be very silent on. I’m choosing to take that as You are not worried so I don’t need to worry either.

They tell me I’m wrong. They tell me I’m abandoned. That is the great temptation. To curse You and walk away. But even then I know Your Love would find me. So I stay. Try to stay.

It isn’t the end of the story yet. There is still time. And You are still God. The same God who did all those miracles before in my life and others. Who hasn’t retired. Hasn’t stepped down. And isn’t asleep on the job – unless there is plenty of time for rest.

Help me see, Lord. Please help my unbelief. Not because there is anything wrong with living a “regular” life. But because You are God. And You can do anything. Anything anything.

The world is hurting right now. And if we are made in Your image then I believe You share in our grief.

But You told us, God, that You are the Father that scans the horizon for the return of Your children. You celebrate relationship with us even at our most broken.

So I pray for massive global revival. Even the biggest yet. Because I’m convinced our prayers are not nearly big enough in the Light of how much You Love us.

I want to be a part of whatever You are doing, Trinity. I want my whole mountain. All that there is. I don’t want to live in fear. I want to roll out of here like the last demolition derby car – not having left anything on the table.

Brené Brown talks about how we can’t dress-rehearse tragedy. The pains of life are going to come and they are going to be painful no matter what. I can certainly attest to that. My only regrets are that I didn’t live and love more. That I siloed in unsuccessful attempts to try to protect myself from the inevitable. Instead of using all that time to open my heart even more. I think that would have helped keep my cup, my tank full. I think that would have helped me feel like every hit wouldn’t be the last, that I couldn’t take anymore.

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One time I worked as a Yellow Cab taxi driver in San Antonio. Many years ago. And it was a holiday. I accepted a call to pick up an elderly woman from her house inside the Loop, just a little north of downtown.

Initially I was really irritated because she was being quite neurotic. But I have repeatedly learned that there is always something more behind such behaviors. And usually people are so constipated with unprocessed emotional, mental, and spiritual baggage that they will unload suprisingly fast when given the slightest welcome to do so.

And I’m happy to listen. If there is one thing I know, it is pain. And I’m only hear even as I am because people opened their hearts and listened to me, let me talk. And as such, I am usually more than happy to return the favor whenever I’m able.

So I was thankfully, by the grace of God and Spirit’s ever-present whispers of encouragement, I set aside my ego and didn’t respond to this elderly women the way she probably “deserved” – for lack of a better word. That set the stage for the floodgates to open once I then asked even just one or two questions.

She told me a story that has stuck with me and come to mind so many times since. Fair-warning that the ending isn’t yet the tied-up, pretty, appealing one you’ll get from Disney. But if you’ll brave it, the message could be a great gift.

It started with her telling me that she married very late. Very well even as a senior. She said he was the love of her life and vice versa. But she was sick and they spent a lot of time at the hospital. Right there together, side by side.

Well, one year around the holidays she had an emergency at the house and her husband called the authorities. An ambulance was sent and the EMTs rushed her to the hospital. While she was being worked on, someone told her husband that she had a heart attack. He took this to mean that she was gone. And while she was still being worked on, the thought of losing her hit him so hard that he… flat-lined. Permanently.

There she was, awake after her physical crisis. Wanting of course to see him. And then had to take in the news. I have no doubt it hit her so hard that she was never the same woman.

But, and she said this slowly, emphatically, deliberately – she would do it all over again even knowing the outcome. She said the time with her husband was by far the best ten years of her entire life. And worth all the rest. There was no doubt that even in her pain she felt it was much better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

I took that to heart. For a long time. I didn’t want fear to rob me so I said yes to a lot. And there were so many good starts. But it wears on you after awhile when it seems like you can’t get any traction on these dreams that appear to cruelly taunt you.

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Another time in the taxi comes to mind. A different woman. Back before the apps. When you could just call for a taxi from even a payphone. Without funds to back it up. And that’s what she did. I arrived and she told me she didn’t have any money. Talk about irritated! Not only did you waste my time, but also my gas money. And now you are even asking for more!?

But I’d been in this rodeo before. Things that don’t make so much sense. The only way to stay sane is to cry out to God. Because above all, I experienced enough of these divine appointments that I couldn’t deny He was my true dispatcher.

Again, the supernatural peace of God flooded me and took over all the ways my ego would have been very tempted to respond. I paused, probably sighed, and then embraced jumping into the idea that Spirit brought to mind.

She sounded incredibly desperate and despondent. I can’t remember exactly why. But some part of me was afraid she was suicidal. And yet I knew I couldn’t coddle her; for my sanity as well as her own. So I told her that I would give her a free ride IF she spent the entire trip telling me things she was thankful for. She probably didn’t think I was serious, so she flippantly agreed and got into the car. Before I pulled away, I reiterated again that the ride would end if she stopped telling me things she was thankful for. She agreed but basically blew me off.

So we started driving. And she was dejectedly doing the typical first things that come to mind: “I’m thankful for my daughter. I’m thankful for food to eat. I’m thankful for…”. As I drove and listened. Not even responding.

It wasn’t a short trip. At least ten minutes. So about the halfway mark she stops and says, “That’s it. That’s all I can think of.”

“Are you sure? That’s all you can think of?”, I responded.

Like a child, this woman basically sat back and folded her arms across her chest and in a pouty voice said something to the effect of, “Yes, that’s it. That’s all I have to be thankful for.”

I’m sure she had a hard life. Homeless at this age. Obviously a lot on her mind and surely her heart. But I couldn’t leave her there in that state. I had to at least try. So I took a risk and called her bluff: “Ok, well I told you that I’d give you a ride as long as you told me things you were thankful for. So since you don’t have anything else, I’ll take this exit and drop you off.” And I started merging off 1-10 towards the exit ramp.

“No, no, no, no, no! I can think of some more!” 😊 And she quickly started up again until the end of the trip.

I dropped her off. Wishing her the best. Saying a prayer this time internally for her. That God would encourage her. That she wouldn’t give up.

And that’s usually how the story ends. Me sometimes thinking of them again. Wondering. But this time was different.

Many at least weeks if not months went by. It was my birthday. And I believe it was Julie who made me my favorite cupcakes: strawberry cake with strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles. Super delicious, but I couldn’t and shouldn’t eat them all. So I took the cupcakes with me as I drove the taxi. And whenever I encountered a customer that was exceptionally pleasant, I’d offer them a cupcake.

So there I am riding around downtown. Near the Riverwalk, in the hustle and bustle of a bazillion tourists in the darkness of night. But it was a cool one so I had the windows down as I creeped along in almost standstill traffic.

When out of a cagillion people, I hear a lady on the sidewalk say loudly and excitedly to someone else, “That’s her! That’s the one I was telling you about!”

I look over and this woman is coming up to my car in traffic. With her friend to show me. Introducing us.

The same woman I had given the free ride to. The one I was worried was suicidal. The one I had tell me all she was thankful for. Now alive and well. Looking so much better and in her right mind that I wouldn’t have noticed it was the same person unless she had said so.

Just one of many serendipitous moments of my life. Me in stand-still traffic, talking to this woman who I had such an opportunity to impact. Even if just for that one night I gave her that “free” ride. Us sharing my birthday cupcakes together as I waited for the light.

This is what I am talking about. Why I can’t give up even if I wanted to. And I have wanted to.

Because just when I think it’s a normal day with nothing happening, so many times it seems like God completely surprises me. Out of the blue.

That’s what keeps me from making the call.

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

I’m not sure if this will be the next chapter in the book, but it’s the chapter that wants to be written right now.

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I didn’t fully appreciate until fairly recently the impacts resulting from a great proportion of my youngest years being spent in a constant state of fear. Relationally and religiously. I don’t think I received enough rest as a child. Or the ideal chance to relax and just be a kid. No, life was constantly about protecting myself. I later learned that the clinicians refer to what developed in me as a state of basically prolonged hypervigilance. Soldiers come back from war with the same heightened levels of this.

There were many years where my response to an environment I couldn’t escape was to freeze, fawn, or flight (within myself). Being almost completely isolated and unable to talk about things, I had very limited options for enduring everything.

Over the years, I would sometimes see comic books, cartoons, or movies with female superheroes. But I couldn’t relate to how they were pretty much all over-sexualized. So in high school, I made up my own superhero: Wonder Grrrl. Inspired by Tank Girl and the Riot Grrrl movement associated with some of the music I liked to listen to: Hole, Kittie, PJ Harvey, Bikini Kill, the Kill Rock Stars label, etc.

The logo I created for Wonder Grrrl was a star with the initials WG in the middle. I created a t-shirt with the logo and I tattooed the logo on my upper arm for my eighteenth birthday. My only tattoo.

Since I had no real-life superheroes to rescue me, I would save myself. Apropos I guess: both my middle and last names mean “warrior”. And I feel like I’ve been fighting my whole damn life.

But what about my first name, God? Sarah means “princess”. Will I ever get that experience?

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When I was much younger, my counselor was trying to encourage me to finally return back to seeing a gynecologist. I’d rather jump off a bridge. For multiple reasons. Both personal and in “professional” settings.

Which is probably what gave her the idea to offer to write something up about me that a physician could read that would give them more insight than I then felt able to verbally communicate. In hopes that the physician would respond accordingly and the experience would be a more positive one than I was used to. And therefore I would stick with any treatments and return.

Well, this particular counselor is very intelligent and I thank God that she didn’t focus on labels when she talked with me. So I didn’t really take on any as an identity to the extent that bothers me in some others I see. I still remained pretty much the full me even as I worked through probably at least a few diagnoses.

But when she wrote up the note for the gynecologist to read, she gave me the option to see and review it. And the list of words used to describe what I was navigating in therapy was too much for me. I blanked almost immediately. And still to this day I don’t remember what was said. Except for one word because I had to ask her what it meant: anhedonia. Defined as the inability to feel pleasure.

Back then I could definitely see why she would associate that with me. But it never fully sat all the way well with me. I couldn’t wrap my head around it at the time, but now I am able to express why.

In my life, it has always been a given that if I let people know what was I wanted, what was important to me, and what I cared about – then that would be taken away. Used against me. So I learned very early on to shut down, shut up, and keep my cards close to my chest. I was an expert at “grey-rock” decades before I ever learned the term. In order to survive. And this wasn’t a conscious thing. It just happened because this beautifully created brain we’ve been given picked it as one of a handful of safe ways to traverse the mindfield of my life. It was easier that way because I didn’t yet have the ability to fight for myself.

I wouldn’t even realize until decades later that the people I was drawn to in media very much mirrored the same qualities. What did you want to be when you were a little girl? Who else besides me admired orphans selected to be trained as special operations overseas? Alone.

One of my favorite books was “My Side of the Mountain”. About a little kid who lives alone in the woods. Hiding from adults.

Another book I enjoyed was about Robinson Crusoe. Shipwrecked on an island. Do we see the theme yet?

Also Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes. People who saw things others didn’t see. Investigators. Researchers. Truth-seekers. Those were people I could relate to. Did I ever choose this life? Or did it choose me?

Even the sermons from the pulpit. It was obvious to me: there were many jealous unhappy people around. And if you shared your excitement then it could cost you your life. Or have you sold to the highest bidder and shipped off to years of slavery, servitude, and injustice.

If people feel threatened then they shut down. Or even attack.

When he was still a kid, my brother once told me: “Your problem is that you set the bar too high. I set it low so I get rewarded for doing anything.” He learned from watching me. And decided to do differently. They treated me like I couldn’t do anything right. They treated him like he couldn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one people invite to parties. I’m the one at home alone.

Not because I am unable to experience pleasure. Very much the opposite. Sometimes I find so much beauty in life that it is intensely painful not to be able to have others to equally enjoy it with.

You were that one. You got me on that level. Without words. You were intense just like me. No chill. Zero chill. And yet we laughed, you made me laugh, so often.

That’s how I knew we were good that last time. It started awkwardly, but by the end you were back. Your old self. Poking fun at my expense but with an audacity that could always break me free and make me smile.

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One time we when we were first hanging out, we were driving north on Interstate 35 and you were not in a great mood. I tried something on you that I used to do with an ex of mine, Rosalinda. I sang the famous Rufus and Chaka Khan chorus line to you: “Tell me something good.” You responded very differently than she used to. You bit back earnestly with something like, “No! I hate all that happy feelings bullshit!”

I was taken aback. Me, the Never Give Up girl. Grrrl. I didn’t know how to respond. I felt like a deflated balloon. I was sad for you. I didn’t know what to do to fix you.

You used to tell me many times that you got to the point where you asked God not to show you anything else that was beautiful. Not another revelation or even another sunset. Because it was too much. Too painful to not have anyone to share it with.

I didn’t understand it back then. But now I do.

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“He came riding fast like a phoenix out of fire flames
He came dressed in black with a cross bearing my name
He came bathed in light and the splendor and glory
I can’t believe what the lord has finally sent me

“He said dance for me, fanciulla gentile
He said laugh awhile, I can make your heart feel
He said fly with me, touch the face of the true God
And then cry with joy at the depth of my love

“‘Cause I’ve prayed days, I’ve prayed nights
For the lord just to send me home some sign
I’ve looked long, I’ve looked far
To bring peace to my black and empty heart

“My love will stay ’till the river bed run dry
And my love lasts long as the sunshine blue sky
I love him longer as each damn day goes
The man is gone and heaven only knows

“‘Cause I’ve cried days, I’ve cried nights
For the lord just to send me home some sign
Is he near ? is he far ?
Bring peace to my black and empty heart
So long day, so long night
Oh Lord, be near me tonight
Is he near? Is he far?
Bring peace to my black and empty heart.”

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A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

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By this time I was completely committed. I was in rotation for doing childcare at the church on Mondays, Saturdays, and Sundays. I was part of the cleaning team on some Saturdays and Sundays. Tried to participate with the setup crews after almost every service I attended. “Ushered” a couple times a week. Sorted and prepared donations for an annual event. Helped out and “served” in many other one-off roles. All while going to church more days of the week than not.

Part of it was that I was so grateful to have found this church “family”. It was the biggest sense of community that I’d probably ever encountered. Certainly in a many years. But there was also an element of me being afraid to say no. I was trying really hard to “lay down my life” and not be “worldly”. Not be in “my flesh”. I wanted God to bless me and ironically I didn’t want any selfishness to get in the way of that. This meant I would pretty much say yes to anything and everything. In hindsight, progressively replacing my feelings with rhetoric.

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Every year Paula picked a group of women to speak on Monday nights during the summer. She picked me to speak in July 2013. I said yes even though I was painfully shy.

Which was why I was a bit perplexed when Ron referred to me twice as a pitbull when he promoted my upcoming talk on his radio program and during a church meeting prior to that Monday night. What an interesting choice of words. I wondered if it was a backhanded compliment because I couldn’t think of any other women who were referred to with similar connotations. But unbeknownst to him, pitbulls were my favorite breed of dog, so I embraced the reference as hopefully proof that my dedication to Jesus was accurately being seen as very serious. In any event, it was crystal clear that as much as I aimed for attaining the character of a Proverbs 31 woman, I was obviously not being routinely mistaken for submissive housewife material. Or marriage.

So leading up to my talk, I decided that I would go the intellectual route in order to piously take the spotlight off myself and “give the glory to God”. I prepared a very verse-heavy study to deliver. Worthy of the approval of the best Bible-thumpers. Certainly not entertaining, but I didn’t care; the goal was to save souls. Right?

But two hours before the talk, I got hit by a barrage of repeated thoughts that I attributed to Spirit encouraging me to scrap my whole prepared study and instead tell some of my personal story. I argued with God those full two hours. I didn’t want the focus on me.

I also didn’t want to get that personal with people. If they knew me then they could hurt me. It seemed much safer and thus smarter to squawk down at people from my fully built up and barricaded tower of self-sufficiency masquerading as a well-meaning but still pretentious performance of piety. You fear your failures will distract away from the message. Not realizing that by attempting to hide your humanness, you are missing out on the opportunity to extend hope far beyond a vocal minority of religious zealots. We mistakenly think it is the success story that people are looking for. Completely skipping over all that is much more relatable in between.

Jesus’ words brought to mind finally convinced me, “Go home to your friends, and tell them what great things the Lord has done for you, and how He has had compassion on you.” So I went to the church completely unprepared. With my original study in hand, but resigned to try to open up publicly for the first time. Zero confidence and full of fear.

I was actually hiding out in the cleaning/storage room when I heard Paula looking for me. The conversation went not exactly but also basically something like this:

“Sarah, are you in there?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you feel like you want to throw up?”

Me holding back tears, “Yes ma’am.”

“It’s okay; that’s normal. Come on out here; Jesus has you.”

And so I didn’t run out of the building. I begged God to help me and I pulled myself together enough to make it up to the podium. Welcomed by a suprising chorus of several “Go, Sarah!” cheers and whoops most likely spurred on by the lively Rocio. 🙂

I tried to not look anyone in the eyes as I talked. It wasn’t until towards the end that I glanced at Paula and noticed she had even stopped taking notes. That hit me more than anything.

Because I wanted to connect with people. I wanted them to really get it. This true Hope that had kept me alive for all these years. That there was something actually real out there, out here. Someone. That they could depend on. That wouldn’t let them down like we are all so used to. Mostly unaware that we are so accustomed to accepting just enough to get by.

One of the biggest compliments someone has still ever given me is when Veronica commented on some personal experience I shared by saying that she wanted a relationship with God like she saw me communicating. That’s exactly why I share. So you will see me, just as I am, and hopefully know that the same is possible for you. I want you to be jealous not of me, but for yourself. And for those you love. I glory in my weaknesses, as much as I despise the shame, specifically to that effect: so you will know there is loads of Life, Love, and Hope continually yours for the taking. A never-ending extended invitation.

The last few minutes of the talk were in my opinion the best and most inspired. But my mind was so focused on encouraging others that I didn’t realize how much God was actually in the process of healing me. Because I was doing the things, right? I thought I had already arrived. I had no idea how much of a new journey in retrospect was only just beginning. I was ready to coast but God was gearing up.

Tish Rodriguez and I had started talking over many weeks about sheep. How Jesus relates to us. And she said something that has stuck with me all this time later. She talked about how when you are a baby Christian, God shines a big light in front of you so you can see where you are going. But as time goes by, that light in front of you shines to a smaller and smaller area. Eventually to where you might only be able to see the next step. It doesn’t feel good. You feel like God is abandoning you, but that’s not what is happening.

I knew she was right at the time, but I wasn’t happy about it. That was not a welcome realization for someone who tries valiantly to order life to be as predictable as possible. I thrive on patterns and formulas. I prefer control and resist ambiguity. I just didn’t understand how much that was impacting me. Spiritually, okay fine. But no, God was is not just going to leave any pieces of me behind in favor of religious and purely intellectual conformity.

I wish it wouldn’t have taken me all this long to stop fighting the process and even begin to really understand how the last few minutes of my talk all the way back then were the point of so much that has happened since:

“‘It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows for so He gives His beloved sleep’.

“It’s hard to leave a relationship when it’s the best that you’ve ever known and just trust that God’s gonna provide. Trust that He has love out there for you…

“The only thing is you have to lay down your ideas. You have to say, ‘Lord, I know that everything is for Your glory and You work everything for good. I may not understand it but I have to believe that. And I have to hold onto that.

“And I can’t grab onto those lies from the enemy that, ‘Oh, God’s not good. Look at this person, look at that person, look at this situation…’

“‘For thus says the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel: “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength”‘ …Therefore the Lord will wait, that He may be gracious to you; and therefore He will be exalted, that He may have mercy on you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for Him. For the people shall dwell in Zion at Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will be very gracious to you at the sound of your cry; when He hears it, He will answer you.’

“I think that’s the good news… He doesn’t care what your resume is. He just wants you to read His resume. He’s not looking for a few good men. He’s just looking for people who are ‘crazy’, desperate, bold enough, courageous enough to believe how good He is. We just have to rest in that.”

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

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Eventually I depleted all of my savings and the work I was doing wasn’t paying all of my bills. I was down to my last twenty dollars with no idea when I would be getting money again. And I needed to buy some food to eat.

My grandparents lived through The Great Depression. My grandfather even wrote a book about growing up in a mud basement house that was dug into the dirt out in Wyoming. My grandmother talked about reusing paper napkins.

And after my biological parents divorced, my mother had to make do on $500 a month for child “support” for two kids. Our big treat back then was going to Taco Bell on Fridays after we cleaned the house before she got home from work. She’s give us a $3 limit each and it was always an exercise in self-denial to decide what to order.

So if there was one thing that fear passed down to me, it was definitely how to survive on almost nothing. And as such, I didn’t initially think twice as I went through the Schertz H-E-B and filled my basked with the cheapest food I could find: Ramen noodles, peanut butter and jelly, etc.

As I was about to go check out, I felt like Spirit asked me, “Is that what you really want to eat?”

“Well, no. Of course not. But I only have twenty dollars to my name.”

I felt like God was encouraging me to spend as much of the money as I wanted to spend in order to get the food that I really wanted to eat. I felt like God was telling me that if I didn’t spend the money to get more nourishing food then I was putting my trust in the money versus putting my trust in Him.

I was actually mad about this. “You’re asking me to spend all of my money, God?!” So I kinda angrily went around the store putting the cheap food back and then buying all the food I really wanted. Spending almost all of my last twenty dollars.

I went back to where I was staying at Julie’s and then ate all of the delicious food and went to bed. I called it my last supper. Like right before Jesus was crucified. Or right before a person on death row is put to death. Because I had no idea when I’d have money to buy food again.

The next day my mother called me. She said she was cleaning up a pile of papers on her kitchen counter and found a check my grandparents had sent her for me months ago. She never told me about it until this phone call. And it had been sitting there all that time. She asked me if I wanted it. Of course!

The check was for $200! God “paid me back” ten-fold for the money I spent the previous night.

Just like Hagar, I knew that God had seen me. Just like Hagar, I also gave God a name that day: “The God of the Lost Birthday Checks”!

That experience did so much for me and continued to encourage me for years to come. Because I had a real experience with God! Something nobody could take from me even if I couldn’t explain it to them in a way they approved of. There was no arguing with me – I knew what I had experienced. Once I was blind, but then I could see.

No well-meaning sermon could ever touch that. I knew God was and is real! And loved me. And saw me! Cared for me! Personally!

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I was working yesterday as I was thinking about posting that story as my next chapter. I pulled into a gas station and went inside to pay for my gas. An elderly homeless man approached me in the store. He very excitedly started telling me about something that happened to him.

He said that some people had robbed him. They had stolen all of his belongings from the camp site that he had meticulously setup and maintained. He expressed how he felt devastated and betrayed that these people took everything from him – even all his clothes.

But as he was standing at the ATM, he told me that he was walking by the gas station and God told him to check his balance in his bank account. Lo and behold there was $200 on his card that he hadn’t known was there.

I excused myself and went to pump my gas. As I was doing so, he again approached me at the gas pumps. Out of all the people at the busy store, out of all the people at the gas pumps. But still very respectful even as he seemed so insistent on communicating to me multiple times with great joy: “Ma’am, God was looking out for me. I am able to eat today and I have money left over in my pocket! Those people stole from me, but God was looking out for me. “

Just a coincidence running into this man?

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

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One day I was talking on the phone to my brother. Animatedly communicating some great indignation I had endured. And expressing my desire that the offender reap significant consequences as punishment for their failure to spare me from pain and suffering.

I was taken aback when my brother replied in earnest shock, “Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you pray for them to get better?”

Here I am, the one who is “going to church” on Mondays, Wednesday, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Me, the one who aims to only listen to gospel and Christian music. Me, who tries to read the Bible and do studies every day. Me, who is devoted to abstinence and celibacy.

And my brother who hasn’t stepped in a church building in God knows how long. My brother who has smoked marijuana for decades. My brother who has enjoyed the company of multiple women without involving the legal system.

I immediately felt the gentle conviction of Spirit. Of course that was the answer. Of course God would want to nurse hurting and also hurtful people back to healing and wholeness.

But I was so hurt that I couldn’t see the path out of my pain towards that heart right then. It would take years before I could conceptualize how my experiences could still be validated while healing for all was pursued in favor of destruction as punishment. I didn’t realize then that my boundaries and the offenders’ restoration are not diametrically opposed objectives that require the elimination of one in order for the other to happen.

But my brother’s words sowed a seed that day that resonated for years. And continually resonates with me even still.

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Street witnessing wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t raised that way. To barge in on people and interrupt their day with unsolicited information. But I was determined to please God. And I thought I must not love people enough if I didn’t harass them out of hell. Basically.

Even so, I only went street witnessing a few times. Downtown around The Alamo.

One time I needed to use the bathroom while I was down there. Not the easiest thing to find when you’re downtown. So I wandered away from Alamo Plaza and ended up asking to use the restroom at the Christian Service Center. I remember feeling what I would now identify as shame when I went inside. Because they were actually doing something more than just talking at people. They were providing soldiers with a safe and welcoming place to relax and refresh.

But that concept really was too much for me to integrate into my frame of reference at the time. That would have involved reconfiguring so much of my life and challenging so many of my modes of operation. It was just too overwhelming to think through at the time. But it definitely planted a seed.

Unfortunately in the interim I just went back to doing what I knew to do: continue working away.

One time when I was downtown for street witnessing, Tusi and I were paired up together as partners for the day. She and I had similar backgrounds in that we had both been in relationships with women. And she was former military while I grew up in the military environment.

I really respected her, but at the time also felt an extra responsibility to encourage “my sister in Christ” to stay on the STRAIGHT and narrow. 😆 I never would have been able to admit it at the time, but that manifested intention was probably a projection of a significant sadness I diligently tried to deny: my own grief I deeply felt from leaving a woman I dearly loved in order to “follow Christ”. Maybe Tusi also, but I for sure was one who wanted to go back to the women I loved.

In any event, there we were in Alamo Plaza. Tusi and I. Me thinking I had to keep the whole world from falling apart.

So since I naturally hated approaching people, I invited Tusi to join me as I prayed for God to provide an “in”. Basically for God to open doors for us to walk through in order to organically tell people about Jesus. Because even then I still loathed the idea of being grouped in with the people who would arrive with loudspeakers and yell at everyone to get “saved”… Or else…

So after I prayed, Tusi and I went around and talked to a couple people. Nothing earth shattering, but thank God nothing super-cringe also.

But then Tusi saw a snow cone stand and said she wanted to go get a snow cone. I told her we needed to stay on task. My attitude was like, “Tusi, we are here to save people from hell. Not to eat snow cones.”

She stayed with me and we “witnessed” to a few more people. But whenever we weren’t talking to people, she kept talking to me about snow cones. Finally I relented. I basically communicated that I would be the valiant martyr and stand my ground at my post in The Alamo Plaza while she went to go get the snow cone that was so important. And no, don’t bring me one back. I don’t need a snow cone; I need people to not go to hell.

In my mind I was thinking, “Fine! Since your ‘flesh’ is getting in the way of ‘witnessing’, go get your stupid
snow cone.”

She, clearly unbothered, made a beeline for the snow cone stand. I stood there in the plaza trying to get refocused on the task at hand. Waiting for Tusi to return. But a lot of time went by and she still hadn’t returned. So I marched over with my pompous austerity to find her and bring her back to “work”.

Where did I finally locate her? Talking with the snow cone stand owner. When I walked up she, blissfully unaware of my audacity, excitedly introduced me to the snow cone owner and invited me to join them as she prayed for the owner’s business to be blessed and successful.

I immediately again felt the gentle conviction of Spirit. God, as only God can do, gave me a funny wakeup call that day. And I’ve been learning a lot along those lines since.

All from Tusi’s desire for a snow cone.

God participates with us just as we are. Not in spite of who we are. The pressure is off. Holy Spirit does the heavy lifting.

There is no condemnation.

“There remains therefore a rest for the people of God. For he who has entered His rest has himself also ceased from his works as God did from His. Let us therefore be diligent to enter that rest…” Hebrews 4

But I still insisted on doing several more laps around the desert.

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

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I tried to go back to work. Because that would make sense, right?

I took the first job I could get, but I was really excited because I was hired on at the first Amazon facility in the area. And it was just down the road from Julie’s house.

I started thinking career-minded again. Even though it was a warehouse job and not what I had envisioned for my career, I decided to make the best of it. I was going to start humbly and then work my way up the ranks. There was even medical insurance that started on the first day. I was all gung-ho.

I had worked in a Dell warehouse in Austin when I was younger. So I wasn’t unfamiliar with working ten to twelve hours on concrete floors. But much to my surprise and great sadness, I physically couldn’t do it anymore.

The reason? Right before I moved to Julie’s, I was still living downtown and riding the bus to work. One day I was running late and thought I was going to miss the bus. I started walking really fast. And I thought Spirit was telling me that everything was going to be okay and that I didn’t have to rush. Specifically that I didn’t have to run. But I didn’t listen. Instead, I started running for the bus stop. Because that’s what made sense.

I felt the pop in my foot right when one of the bones broke. It was a small bone so it didn’t knock me off my feet. But I felt the pop and the pain. Yet I still kept running.

I made it to the bus stop with plenty of time to spare because the bus was also running late that day. Had I listened to Spirit and walked, I would have made it with time to spare. But I didn’t listen to God and now my foot was permanently broken and in pain.

I really didn’t have the luxury of thinking much of it because I didn’t have medical insurance at the time. So I never went to see a doctor about it because I could still limp along.

I didn’t really even notice how bad it was until I went to work for Amazon. The foot was okay for a little bit, but as the hours on the concrete floor wore on, the pain became unbearable. I was in tears. I went to the onsite doctor. I was advised to take the maximum dose for the over the counter pain relief medicine. But that had no effect; the pain was untouched by the pills. Like I had never taken them.

So I went to see my doctor. Actually one of the two doctors that run Malta Medical, the free medical clinic run by the church. Dr. Peter referred me out to get my foot x-rayed. Finally it was officially confirmed – my foot was broken. A fracture in one of the little bones that runs the top of the foot.

Dr. Peter told me that he could either prescribe stronger pain relievers or a medicine to block the nerve pain. But I was really scared of getting addicted to those medicines, so I decided to quit the Amazon job.

I cried when I quit the job. I felt so defeated. Why couldn’t I just get a job and work at it like a normal person? Why wasn’t anything working out for me? Was it a failure on my part? Or was God doing something?

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I started looking for work again. I had an opportunity to make more money in an office setting.

But then a new opportunity came up again through the church. I think it was possibly Paula again who referred me. To a man named Jeff. He needed help with his wife who was in the last stages of a terminal illness. And he also wanted assistance with his business.

I was really conflicted about this. I preferred the office work, but I was starting to think that maybe I was wrong for thinking I needed money. Maybe that’s why everything was falling apart. Maybe I didn’t trust God enough. Maybe I wouldn’t get what I wanted unless I proved to God that I had more faith? I mean look at what had already happened.

So I turned down the job that paid enough to live on, and instead I started taking care of Jeff’s wife and trying to help with paperwork for his business.

Well, let’s just say that we were not on the same page in some major ways. I was trying to give them a break because they were navigating a terminal illness, but everything built up and culminated in me eventually quitting one day.

Jeff’s wife died I believe less than two weeks later. I didn’t blame myself. I was actually glad I stepped out of the way. That he was able to fully spend those last two weeks with his wife on a level he probably would not have if I had stayed on. I was thankful they got that time together without me in the picture.

I regretted turning down the well-paying job. I tried to go back and get it. But to no avail.

I blamed myself. I told myself that if I wasn’t so faithless and self-centered then things would have worked out with Jeff and all the previous jobs. If I could just “deny myself”, “pick up my cross”, and better “represent Christ”. I vowed again to work to measure up.

And started looking for work again.

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.

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I had really high expectations since my boss at the new job was a woman from the church. But things didn’t go smoothly. Attending the same church did not mean we were on the same page with everything else. But I was hopeful that things would eventually work out. And I was determined to stick it out especially since this was a connection with someone at the church.

That was my mindset when another church member called me one day while I was on my lunch break. She asked if I’d be available to start coming over to her house to watch her child full-time during the day.

Again, it didn’t make sense. This was someone I knew in passing but had never hung out with. I think the preacher may have referred me to her, even though he, like Paula, probably also knew I was working full-time.

Did these people think I had no life? I had to go to my job and work to pay my bills. Right?

So I told her no, that I wasn’t available. And that was that. Finished my lunch break and went back inside.

Or so I thought. To my surprise, my boss showed up immediately after I clocked back in from lunch. Without any prior conversations in this regard, she told me that she had decided that exact day would be my last day. That it wasn’t working out. And she offered for me to stay and finish the day or clock out immediately. I wasn’t really fired; there were never any formal write-ups. But that was my last day. Just like that.

I was in shock! What just happened?!

So I called back the other lady from church and told her that God must really love her because I no longer had a job and was now available to babysit full-time for her during the day.

What was God doing?!

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So I basically moved into this family’s house for awhile to help them out because there were special circumstances. Periodically I’d go back to Julie’s place; I technically still had a space there. But I was over at the other family’s house most of the time.

I had been saving up for a car of my own while I was working for money. But now my savings were going to pay my bills since I wasn’t really getting paid for all the time I was spending helping out this family. Which was fine with me in one sense because it seemed obvious to me that God wanted me there. So I was relying on God to provide. And it was supposed to be a short-term situation.

But right as things were wrapping up with them, the couple who had been so generously letting me use their car now needed it back I think to let a relative use it. Totally understandable. They had already gone above and beyond. But what was I going to do now with no car?

It was around this time that my mother decided to buy a new car. She asked me if I wanted to buy her old car. I told her I was interested but that I couldn’t afford to pay her anytime soon. I had blown through my savings and didn’t have full-time work yet.

Well, much to my surprise, she ended up basically just giving me the car instead of selling it to me. I felt bad about this; I wanted to pay her. But again, it was God showing off for me right when I needed it.